You Just Never Learn, Do You?
by Aradiuth
Summary: John Cena and Randy Orton share a hotel room...again. Sequel to "Learn To Ask Politely" but reading it isn't a prerequisite. Short oneshot


"Are you serious?" That was "The Viper" Randy Orton's sole reaction when he was informed of his roommate's identity. The last time he shared a room with "The Champ" John Cena, it turned out to be an absolutely horrific nightmare of an evening. Cena had, in fact, given him a very emphatic attitude adjustment (though not literally, thankfully).

"Hey, man, looks like we're rooming together again," said John, walking up to Randy, his ever-present smile gracing his face.

Randy looked at him sourly. "This time, no broken glass," he warned.

"Right, right," John agreed easily. "No glass, I got it."

Randy narrowed his eyes. There was just something about that man he didn't trust. Just a little something he couldn't quite put his finger on…

"Yo, let's go get our key and all and we can relax for a few hours before turning in," John proposed and, without waiting for a response, grabbed his bags in one hand and Randy's wrist in the other.

Randy just managed to take hold of his own bags before he was being dragged forcefully and quickly across the lounge of the hotel to the reception desk. Faster than he had thought was humanly possible, Randy was a mere witness as John got the key and room number by saying no more than five words to the reception lady and took off up the stairs, still dragging the Legend Killer by the wrist.

"Would you slow down, Cena?" demanded Randy, barely keeping up.

"We're on a schedule here," John said over his shoulder.

"What schedule?"

"Very funny. Like you didn't know that the door spirits operate on a very tight schedule. Like trains."

Randy stopped, completely confused, nearly getting whiplash as John yanked him along at his breakneck pace. Shaking his head violently, Randy asked, "Did I hear that right? What the hell are door spirits?"

John stopped suddenly, making Randy run straight into him. "Spirits that open doors, obviously," he said as if every kindergartener knew it. He put the card into the slot in the door. It beeped green and John pushed open the door in one fast motion. "See?" he yelled excitedly. "We made it!" He rushed in.

Randy followed more slowly, having finally been able to jerk his wrist out of John's grip. "What the hell has gotten into you?" he demanded.

John sat on a bed and looked at Randy as if he were unsure of his sanity. "You know…the door spirits open the doors. It's not the keys; they don't really do anything. That's just to keep the door spirits from being popularized so they don't have to deal with mass media." He sighed dramatically. "If only I had keys to protect me from the paparazzi." He started singing Lady Gaga's single "Paparazzi."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Randy said, throwing his hands up (but dropping his bags first). When John didn't stop singing, he said sharply, "Shut up, I'm trying to talk!"

John glared but shut up.

Randy continued, "John Cena, I, Randy Orton, conclude that you have completely lost hold of your senses. Just how hard did I punt you?"

"Hard," John admitted. "I still have a headache."

Randy smirked. "How long was it before you saw straight?"

"When I did the Attitude Adjustment on you my head was still spinning, and that was about five minutes later." John thought for a second. "At least, it was about five clotheslines later. And a You-Can't-See-Me five-knuckle-shuffle."

"Thank you," Randy said flatly. "Yes, I punt hard."

John rolled his eyes. "Understatement of the year. They should give out a Slammy for that."

"Yeah, right." Randy tossed his bags over John onto the bed on the far side.

John, meanwhile, turned on the TV and switched the channel to a showing of _Die Hard_, a classic action movie complete with explosions. Unfortunately, it didn't have much else.

"Change the channel, I hate this movie," Randy said, crossing in front of the TV and sinking onto his bed. He closed his eyes, leaning backwards, ready to finally sink into blissful rest…

John's blood-curdling scream made The Viper bolt up, ready for action. However, as he watched, that scream quickly turned into laughter as his roommate fell to the floor, rolling around maniacally.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Randy wondered aloud. "John."

John sat up, glaring daggers, all laughter gone. "What, Ran-dal Or-ton?"

"What's wrong with you, man?" Randy shook his head and got up. "I'm going to the bathroom."

"NO YOU'RE NOT!" Cena yelled, scrambling up. "I am!"

"Oh, no." Randy broke into a sprint, but tripped over John's conveniently extended foot.

John, taking advantage, quickly ran into the bathroom, closed the door, and locked it audibly.

Randy groaned, getting up and leaning against the door. "I'm not going to ask you twice, John. Open the frickin' door right now, or I swear, next match, I'll do more than punt you in the head."

There was a long silence. Then, he heard John sigh on the other side of the door.

"You just never learn, do you?" The Champ said, unlocking the door.

Randy readied himself, but he was still unpleasantly surprised when he was hit on the side of the head by the towel John was using as a whip. He reeled back, receiving another towel-strike for his effort to escape, and John once more disappeared inside the bathroom, locking the door behind him securely. And there was nothing the Legend Killer could do about it.


End file.
